Come Alive
by coldqueen
Summary: Sequel to the PAIRE story STRANGER THINGS HAVE HAPPENED. This is the happy ending reviewers demanded.  Peter's questions about his past and Claire's place in it are answered, while she gets both what she dreads and truly wants.  Canon Paire.


**Title:** Come Alive

**Characters:** Peter Petrelli, Claire Bennet, the Haitian

**Rating:** R; Mature Sexual Content

**Spoilers:** S2 up to 2X03, "Kindred"

**Summary:** Sequel to _Stranger Things Have Happened_, in which Peter gets some answers, and Claire gets what she truly wants.

**A/N:** Again, another Foo Fighters song off the new CD. This time it's "Come Alive" another BIG recommendation from me. Not just is it generally good, it also fits this fic rather well.

Shout out to my beta, the best beta in the world, Dragonydreams.

* * *

_I lay there in the dark and I close my eyes  
You saved me the day that you came alive  
That reason left me to survive  
You saved me the day you came alive_

-Foo Fighters

* * *

**Cork, Ireland**

_"He's got amnesia?"_

_"No. He's got nothing. There is nothing there. I've been in his head, Claire. Even if you told him everything you knew about him, he would never remember. Leave him to his life. He's happy."_

His ability didn't work as most people assumed it did.

_Claire's face was tracked with tears, but displayed no redness of nose or cheek. She looked like an angel, all blonde hair and big blue eyes. Her protector could deny her nothing. _

"Take it from him?" She asked quietly as she pressed herself against the wall beside the door, indeed the only thing holding her up. "The memories of me. Take them all." 

When people saw him do what he does, they always pictured something out of Harry Potter. They imagined him pulling a memory from someone's mind like a string from a knot of yarn. When his superiors told him to take something from someone, they wanted to think it was cool and clinical, and that he would always remain the obedient soldier they trained.

Clearly, that was their first mistake, as he was obedient to no one but himself and a select few he trusted to lead him.

Their second mistake was assuming that it was a detached method by which he removed people's memories. The method by which he used his ability was of a far more intimate nature than the Company had ever cared to explore. He was entering people's most private thoughts, reliving their memories as he erased them from their conscious minds. He was the only remaining bearer of countless reams of knowledge; he alone lived with things that others couldn't bear or weren't allowed to bear.

It was a heavy burden.

Four months ago, he and Claire's father had come across Peter Petrelli while they were breaking into a Company holding facility. They couldn't jeopardize the mission they were on, nor could they leave him there. Bennet had made the hard decision to make sure that Peter was allowed to go free, but also that he would not be able to trace his escape back to their aid.

Peter deserved a fresh start, Mr. Bennet had reasoned, and if he didn't know about the Company it was more likely that fresh start would be permanent. In an echo of words spoken months ago in the town of Odessa, Texas, Mr. Bennet ordered him to "hollow Peter's mind out".

Permanent amnesia and placement in a foreign country, all to ensure Peter's safety and by extension, the safety of the Bennet family.

Mr. Bennet didn't care about the emotional ramifications of what he'd asked the Haitian to do. He was a pragmatic man who thought of physical safety above mental. He didn't care if Claire was torturing herself with dreams of Peter's supposed death as long as she was physically okay.

The Haitian was the opposite of Mr. Bennet in many ways. What did the body matter if the mind was shattered in a vital way? What good was a functioning body if the person inhabiting it was no longer alive?

The pub was closed but it was no big feat for the Haitian to use a lock-pick and force the archaic lock open. It was dark inside when he stepped in and he shut the door quietly. He knew where Peter's room was from reconnaissance he'd conducted earlier today while Claire and her schoolmates had slept in.

Mr. Bennet had intended that the Haitian would convince Peter to help them take down the Company, but clearly this was no longer possible. He would have to make up a convincing argument for why Peter should stay out of this.

Or he could simply erase the idea from Bennet's mind completely.

The thought of entering Mr. Bennet's mind, however, was not one that amused the Haitian so he discarded the idea immediately. He'd make up something as necessary.

There was a creak in the third step, he knew, and he stepped over it easily. Though Peter and the Irish girl, Caitlin, usually slept in the same room, he knew that tonight would be an exception to that rule. If Caitlin hadn't been told about Claire by her brother, then surely Peter's good nature wouldn't have allowed him to keep it from her.

The Haitian opened his mind and felt the gentle familiar buzzing of Peter's mind. He was alone inside his room, pacing back and forth as his thoughts moved quickly and without direction. When the Haitian slipped inside the room, Peter whirled and electricity sparked beneath his hands.

He didn't move as Peter glared threateningly at him, instead he just stood there peacefully, arms folded behind his back. Slowly, Peter eased down on the intimidation factor and stood there looking cold but curious. "Who are you?"

"A friend," he replied cautiously, moving farther into the room but putting his hands up as if to say he was "unarmed".

"I'm getting a little tired of old friends dropping in on me," Peter replied through grinding teeth, his eyes flashing with irritation and more than a little confusion.

The Haitian shrugged and remained quiet as he studied the room. The bed was unmade and rumpled almost violently. The air was thick with the smell of food, no doubt drifting from downstairs, and sweat, remnants of something more carnal. "Claire sent me."

Peter turned to follow the bigger man with his eyes, unwilling to let him out of his sight. "I don't know any Claire."

The Haitian smiled to himself, turning to place himself directly in front of Peter. "Let's not play games, Mr. Petrelli. You know Claire, very well."

"I have amnesia, I don't know anything."

"She came to you this afternoon-"

"I don't know my name."

"-you two had a conversation-"

"I don't know my past."

"-and what seems to be more than a little conversation."

"I don't know any Claire."

Even though he knew very little about her or her motives, Peter was still, and always would, try to protect Claire. It was instinctive for him, and instincts were one of few things that the Haitian couldn't erase. He could remove the tactile memories from someone's mind, but he could erase who they were. If they were good people, then even after he removed their memories they would be good people. If they were bad, well, then even after...

Peter was looking at him like he wanted to crawl into his mind. His eyes stared straight through the Haitian and the man felt a trickle of unease drift through him. This was one of the most powerful people on the planet and he was playing verbal games with him?

The Haitian reached out and brushed his fingers against Peter's forehead before the man could move out of his reach. All it took was a second and he was in, in deeper than he'd thought he could go so quickly. Peter's new memories, so close to the surface of his mind, inundated the Haitian, sucking him down like quicksand until he mentally stood on the edge of the abyss he'd created all those months ago.

He stared into that abyss and it stared back.

Memories, things that should not have remained there drifted through the emptiness. There weren't many, only a few, but despite all the odds, all that the Haitian knew to be true, there shouldn't have been any at all.

The memories looked like ghosts, transparent shadows of their former selves. Claire's eyes staring hauntingly out of a face pale and covered with blood. Mohinder Suresh's words of mocking disdain echoing bitterly. The feeling of air rushing around him as he plummeted for the ground, so sure that he was capable of more.

Love. It was the strongest memory of all.

Peter Petrelli could remember love. He remembered that he'd been loved, that he'd loved others. He'd loved life, he'd loved being a hero, he'd loved being with people.

Peter Petrelli had loved.

The Haitian had taken that away.

The Haitian was poised to take it away again.

Every journey is a two-way road, where you pass others who are trying to get where you're coming from, and meet others who are struggling to reach where you are going. Mr. Bennet and the Haitian had been traveling in the same direction for many years now, but for the first time, the Haitian realized that he was falling behind. He realized that he was and had been searching for an exit ramp subconsciously for some time now.

When the Haitian felt Peter instinctively pull on the mental link between them, Matt Parkman's telepathy suddenly activating instinctively, he let him in. He let Peter into his mind because he was tired of sharing the burden alone. By very nature Peter had already absorbed his own ability, so he would know what he was doing in there.

Peter's mind grappled for something familiar in the vast stores of this stranger's mind. Memories flew past, blurred and unfocused until his head spun and he struggled to remain standing.

Was he standing though? Was he really where he thought he was?

Peter had lost his grip on reality the instant this man had touched him and he feared he'd never find his feet beneath him again.

Suddenly, like a light at the end of the tunnel, he saw something familiar.

Time seemed to freeze, and Peter found himself frozen in place as the memories that streaked past like long arcing lines of light suddenly stopped all motion. They seemed now like pictures hanging in the air without anything to hold them down. He moved closer, not really walking but forward motion nonetheless.

The first one was Claire, her hair longer and curlier as she ran towards him. Her eyes were wide and tears spilled down over her cheeks. She was asking him questions, and then telling him that there had to be another way even as she slowly pulled the gun up and sighted down at him.

Though her actions seemed violent, the love in her eyes was clear. It made Peter feel warmer inside. Like he wasn't alone anymore.

He moved past that "scene" and onto the next. It was a man, a man that looked like Peter only older and with stronger features. He couldn't hear what the man was saying but it was clear he was brushing Peter off. He shook his head and slid on his suit jacket, reaching out to hug Peter before he rushed out the door.

Nathan.

The man's name was Nathan and he was Peter's brother.

Again and again Peter looked through the memories, regaining some, gaining some new ones. In the end, he was looking at one memory. One memory he couldn't draw his mind from no matter how he tried.

It started in a hallway in Odessa.

It ended in a hospital bed in New York City.

It was her, always her. She was a constant in most of these memories, spurring him to greater and better things. She made him a stronger man, capable of doing what needed to be done.

He pulled his mind from the Haitian's with an almost audible popping sound and found himself sinking to his knees with weakness.

Across from him the Haitian did the same.

They both coughed a little as air rushed into their lungs and Peter was surprised to look over and see that it had not been hours as he'd thought, but only minutes since this stranger had entered his room.

Peter stared at the Haitian with unseeing eyes as his hands shook and his mind exploded into a thousand tiny pieces. He spoke as if he didn't realize he was even doing so. "It was you. You took them all. Took everything from so many people."

"I did what I was told to do."

Peter's mind snapped back into shape and his eyes focused sharply. "Do you always do what you're told?"

The Haitian stood and took a step back, moving as if to leave the room. He froze on that first step, turning to Peter. He offered him a hand up from the floor. Peter took it.

They stood staring at each other for several seconds before the Haitian spoke again. "No. Not since I met her."

Peter nodded, because for the first time he truly understood just how much of an effect she had on people. "She makes you better. Makes you want more from your life."

The Haitian nodded solemnly but did not speak. He stepped aside and gestured towards the door.

Peter needed no other hint and was running down the stairs and outside within seconds, her location pulled from the Haitian's mind with ease.

Inside his now abandoned room, the Haitian slowly sank onto the bed, his head falling naturally into his palms as his body slowly slumped in exhaustion.

Physically, he was okay.

* * *

Claire was laying on top of her coverlet, staring at the spackled ceiling as if it held answers to her inner turmoil. Her tears had dried up half an hour ago, though her body continued to heave dry sobs without end. 

It felt as if she'd said goodbye to a part of herself tonight, as if something within her had died and withered away. She couldn't feel her body anymore, she'd gone numb in so many ways before this night, but this was a different kind of numb.

She'd gone numb from physical pain, but this pain cut straight and deep to her heart.

She'd gone numb from the extremes of heat and cold, but she'd never again know the warmth of Peter beside and inside her.

She'd gone numb, period, without Peter there to guide and to care for her.

Sylar might as well have killed her that night in Odessa for all the pain she was going through now.

Despite her belief that her tears had dried up, all these thoughts provoked one solitary one to run down her cheek and land in her hair, tickling her slightly. She smiled at the sensation; it filtered through the numbness.

The door to her room slammed open and a dark figure rushed through it. Claire immediately threw herself back, off the bed and against the wall. She stared in wonder at the figure eating up the space between them until she realized with more shock that it was Peter.

He looked ragged, like he'd been running for hours without end. Sweat dripped from his closely shorn hair and his eyes were bright and crazed with emotions she couldn't read. He reached out and gripped her forearms tightly, pressing a kiss to her forehead before gazing into her eyes deeply. "Claire!"

"Peter?" She asked unsteadily, her voice small and trembling, her mind reeling from this sudden change. "What are you doing here?"

"I remember, Claire. I remember everything." He cocked his head to the side, his eyes dimming as he thought deeply. "Well, mostly everything."

It was the last thing she wanted to hear. She pulled away suddenly moving past him and across the room. She instantly felt colder without him so near. "What are you talking about?"

"There was a man, he said you sent him, and he was the one who took my memories. He, well kinda, he gave them back."

Claire's tears were long gone, replaced by a deep rage that quaked within her bones. "He did what?"

Peter studied Claire's face and his puppy-dog eagerness disappeared in a flash of comprehension. "He wasn't supposed to."

She shook her head and laughed bitterly, refusing to look him in the face. "No, he wasn't," she answered him quietly.

Peter followed Claire across the room, his steps angry and thundering as he approached. "Why?"

"Because of this, Peter!" She whirled and gestured between them as if the tension that always resided between them was visible to the world. "Because of us! What we did? Do you recall me coming and taking advantage of you? I sure as hell won't ever forget it!"

"Well, neither will I!" Peter yelled back as they both stepped closer, their bodies brushing against each other and the tension between them rising until the air between them seemed thick with it.

Peter reached out, slowly and tenderly brushing a stray curl from her forehead. The tips of his fingers seemed like fire, rough and hot as they licked their way across her skin. The air in her lungs rushed out and she gasped, tearing her eyes from his as she tried to summon up the strength to end this terrible thing between them once and for all.

Claire looked up, her mouth open as if to say something.

Peter leaned down and kissed her at the same time, stalling any disagreements now and forever. Claire's arms slid around his neck of their own volition, just as her body arched into his chest at the same time. It was like curling around a pillar of stone that'd been in sunlight all day; deliciously warm but hard enough that it wasn't entirely comfortable.

Peter wrapped his long fingers around her legs, lifting her until she wrapped those short but delectable legs around his waist. He set her down with a small thump on the table just behind her, a delicate little seventeenth century piece used mainly for decoration that was just wide enough to give them enough purchase to balance on.

Peter's hands tore at her clothes even as his mouth fastened on hers and refused to let go. He plunged his tongue in and out of her mouth possessively, struggling to control the overwhelming need for her spurned out of their earlier tryst.

Without realizing it, he instinctively pulled up the powers of someone he didn't truly remember and pulled her clothes through her body until she sat before him bare as the day she'd been born.

Claire jerked her mouth from his as she suddenly found herself chilled in the re-circulated air of the room. Her hands clenched on Peter's shoulders and she pressed herself against him coquettishly as she realized her state of undress. Peter grinned and threw her clothing over his shoulder, uncaring of where it landed.

He ran his hand down her side, brushing his knuckles against the side of her breast and eliciting a sigh from deep within her. Claire hid her blushing face in the side of his neck, breathing in that his pure scent until she felt something within her shift and come alive again. The colors around her seemed brighter, sensations sharper, and life just so much better now.

Peter continued to run one of his hands down her body, along her sides and down her arms, easing the sudden tension the removing of her clothing had caused in her body. He pressed his mouth against her temple, then her cheek, until he'd found her mouth again. He pressed light shallow kisses against her soft lips until she eagerly wrapped her hands in his hair and dragging him down for deeper drugging kisses.

Peter and Claire reached for the fly of his pants at the same time, their fingers tangling and laughter spilling from their throats and into each other as they fought over who got the privilege. Peter won and the button on his jeans slipped from its hole with some difficulty. The hiss of his zipper was loud in the room and their laughter faded quickly as he and Claire pulled his aroused flesh from its denim prison.

Peter gripped Claire's wrists and set her hands down on either side of her hips. He held her hands there even as he nipped lightly at her lips, waiting until she had a good grip on the edge of the table before releasing them.

He ran his fingers lightly, so light it was almost like not touching at all, down her face. Over her cheeks, hesitating on her lips, and downward. Her collarbone fascinated him, so he dropped a kiss on it, his tongue flicking out into its hollow like quicksilver. His fingers skimmed down her arms and back up again, before cradling her breasts completely, reveling in the weight of them until Claire's head fell back and thumped against the wall in impatience.

Peter grinned up at Claire, pressing a kiss in the center of her chest, right on the rigid bone that lay just beneath her pale and silky skin. He released her chest only to fasten his hands on her hips, pull her close and thrust himself completely into her without warning.

A small scream escaped Claire's suddenly closed throat and her hands released the table only to scramble for purchase as the sensations slowly started to drive her mad. She was still sensitive from their joining earlier and the feel of him filling her so completely again, so soon, made her keen in both pleasure and anticipation.

Peter licked his lips as he stared down at Claire, marveling at how beautiful she was, and at how much she was his. He held her hips tightly, bruises forming under his fingers, but unable to stop himself. He slowly drew himself out of her, her hungry body clenching around him as if to stop him.

He kept pulling out until only the very tip of him remained inside of her, and he paused. He rubbed that small part of him against her opening, teasing her terribly, and himself at the same time. Claire's hand finally found a home on his shoulders and she scratched him vengefully as he continued to torment her.

Peter released one of her hips and ran his free hand up her leg until he could grip her knee. He pulled it up until it was level with his chest, then and only then, did he thrust back within her violently. The change of her leg position changed the pressure points he hit inside her and Claire shivered violently as he ran that hard length of himself along all new pleasure spots. Holding that position, he began to fuck her hard and brutally, forcing her ecstasy to higher levels than ever before. They weren't so much consummating their relationship as Peter was staking his claim on her.

No matter what, she would not forget the feel of his body against hers.

They came together again and again; their moans and heavy panting making the room seem more humid than before, the air so much heavier around them. A blush appeared on Claire's cheeks as more scratches appeared and disappeared on Peter's shoulders. Their skin became slick as sweat started to pour from their bodies. Peter's legs were straining, their muscles burning from exertion. Claire's head hurt from banging it into the wall so many times.

Neither of them felt those sensations, however, as the pleasure was blanketing everything.

Claire curled her toes as she felt the muscles inside her that Peter was so relentlessly stroking into frenzy clench and release quickly. She could feel the small waves within her rising and cresting quickly, building up higher and higher until it felt like she was being buffeted from all sides by the vibrations of it.

The vibrations of orgasm within her slowly stroked Peter's own fire until it raged within him and threatened to violently erupt.

Together, they reached their peak. He froze inside her feeling his loins tighten up painfully before releasing, his seed filling her far deeper than she thought possible. She quaked around him, her legs weakening and sliding off his hips to fall heavily against the table.

Peter felt his own legs weaken but was unwilling to collapse to the floor in an ungraceful heap. He pulled up strength from deep within him, from where he did not know, and carefully lifted Claire from the table. Slowly he walked them over to the bed, so distracted by the emotions still running amok within him that he almost walked into the damn thing.

He let Claire slide down his body and watched as she sprawled out, exhausted, on the bed. With a grateful sigh, he lay beside her and spooned himself around her. For several minutes they lay there, content to merely be near each other.

Finally, Claire spoke.

"I called Nathan. He's on his way here. He's expecting to find you, amnesiac and living above a bar."

He could hear the tears in her voice.

"We'll deal with it," Peter replied reassuringly, running a comforting hand down her side. He pressed a kiss to her temple and held her tightly.

She wanted to pull away, he could feel it in her body, but he wasn't letting her go that easily. "How, Peter? How are we going to deal with...this?"

"With the truth," Peter said quietly. "I love you. I've loved you since the first time I saw you and nothing is going to change that. I don't want to torture myself for the next fifty years by pretending different."

Claire rolled over until she could see Peter's face. "They'll hate us. They'll all hate us."

He looked down into her face.

Into eyes that had haunted him for months, onto lips that brought him the greatest pleasure he'd ever known. He looked into the face of his greatest love and his greatest pain.

"We'll have each other."

It was enough.

* * *

Read and review, please. 


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